This is not a poem,
but an image representing one.

I need some medicine
Maybe a pill to take

It's night time again
I still remain awake

So many thoughts
Run across my head

Too much thinking
Will I ever go to bed?

I wish to shut my eyes
Will I ever get some rest?

I probably won't sleep
Insomnia is at it's best

It's the way it creeps into your brain
and intoxicates your thoughts
and triggers unwanted emotions
and inhibits your every move
leaving you paralyzed from
the neck down.

And there's nothing you can do
except take the red or blue pill --
a temporary solution to
a lifelong illness
that will stop at nothing to
devour all the good inside you.

I just wish it would stop
and allow me to breathe
and keep my chest from feeling
as if a thousand needles are lodged inside.
That's my small request.
Why can't I have that?

Let's make a deal
that the smoke scented
taste of your tongue
will never leave mine.